SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  A beam of blue plasma shot from the dunes, sparking through the overshield and burning a hole through the armored cat’s front leg. Sunflower clicked a toggle and fired a single missile into the darkness. A red flash and dull boom rolled over the beach.

  “How many transports left?”

  “Two,” said the flight computer. “One is charging engines. It has now lifted off.”

  “What about Betsy? Did he make it?”

  “The navigator is entering the last transport.”

  “Great. Give me emergency power on the thrusters!”

  Sunflower spun the armored cat and leaped high, jump jets blazing and front claws outstretched. Although the dome-shaped transport was twenty times the size of the steel beast, it was designed for rapid, efficient delivery of supplies, not resisting an attack from Tau Ceti’s finest military equipment. The armored beast plowed into the curved side of the transport, ripping with razor claws, roaring, and firing the last few missiles in the pod. The rapidly rising transport tipped sideways and curved a gentle arc over the ocean, crashing into the water with a towering white plume.

  The beach became quiet, and the waves rolled up the sand and faded back the same way they had for millions of years. A few hundred cat and dog soldiers came out of hiding to search for their wounded comrades. They carried the injured animals to the last transport, and then formed a line and quick-marched to the south, where the distant thump of walkers could be heard and plasma beams turned the dark clouds orange and blue. With a crackle and fizz of retro-burners, the transport lifted off toward the three starships floating like clouds in the night sky.

  Ten minutes later, a pair of red coals glowed under the waves, and the armored cat clanked out of the ocean. One of the back legs made a grinding sound and moved slower than the other three legs, forcing the machine to walk with a limp.

  “I’m not designed for swimming,” said the flight computer. “I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”

  Inside the cockpit, Sunflower rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t expect to crash into the sea!”

  “Crashing into a mountain would have been better?”

  Sunflower guided the giant beast over the beach, the heavy paws crunching on the large number of weapons, pieces of armor, and candy bar wrappers dropped on the sand by One’s frightened soldiers. He leaned forward and stared through the armored window of the cockpit.

  “Looks like the survivors are moving south. I see plasma fire––what are they shooting at? We’d better finish them off.”

  He pressed the controls to activate a jump, but instead of leaping into the air, the giant beast simply tottered a few steps.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, pilot,” said the flight computer. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Make my day and tell me you’re going to self-destruct.”

  “Negative. The impact with the surface of the water has jostled the damage report module. It is now able to report damage.”

  Sunflower sighed. “The bad news?”

  “Jump jets are offline. Overshield is offline. Micro-missiles are gone and offline. Land speed limited to a fast trot.”

  “A fast trot?”

  “An overstatement. My travel speed is currently limited to the rapid jog of a pregnant duck.”

  Sunflower unfastened his helmet and squeezed into the back seat.

  “Great. Follow those stragglers, Mrs. Duck, while I try and fix the damage.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Betsy dug into the sand behind a dune and kept his brown-and-white head low to the ground as the battle raged across the beach. A solid rectangle of three hundred cats and dogs in armor charged past on all fours, their paws splashing through the foaming water and the rifles on their backs shooting blue plasma fire. A terrible roar sounded in the darkness, followed by screams and thumps. The remnants of the battalion galloped back the way they had come, dropping their helmets and weapons to run even faster.

  Betsy’s furry ears perked up and he tried to filter the sound of explosions and plasma beams from the chest-vibrating rumble of large engines. The Jack Russell terrier gathered his legs into a crouch on the cold sand, his eyes on the glossy black dome of a transport shuttle. At the last moment, he raced down the dunes and across the beach, dodging the flaming wreckage of walkers and the bodies of cats and dogs. The little terrier scrambled up the open ramp of the transport, plopped into the nearest seat, and clicked the safety webbing around his chest. The engines kicked in hard and pushed him into the hard cushion like a melting ice cream cone.

  The rest of the one hundred seats around the huge circular compartment were empty, apart from a beagle and a white Persian with scorched fur. Both animals wore olive-green combat armor on their chests and legs, but had lost their rifles. The cat wore a helmet, but it was less than functional at this point––the visor had shattered into a thousand tiny cracks, and something had scratched deep claw marks across the left side.

  The white cat with the burnt fur grabbed his helmet with both paws, twisted it to the left a quarter-turn, and lifted it off his head.

  “Great Holy Cheezburger,” he gasped, his blue eyes wide. “What was that?”

  “You should know better than me,” said the beagle.

  “It looked like a C-34 Battle Cat, but that’s impossible! The Emperor would never sell military hardware to Centaurans. How are the man-monkeys even piloting it? Number one––they’re too fat, and number two––they have brains like babies. Babies can’t drive a tank! I should know––I have twelve of them at home.”

  “Tanks?” asked the beagle.

  “No! Kittens!”

  The transport tilted sharply and slowed.

  “Calm down,” said the beagle. “We’re probably not even on Alpha Centauri. Don’t believe everything you read on the message boards.”

  “Yeah right, genius. If we’re not on Alpha Centauri, the homeworld of man-monkeys, then where are we?”

  “Sitting in a transport lifting back to the Hare Twist.” The beagle at last noticed Betsy, and raised his voice. “Hey buddy! Are you okay?”

  Betsy glanced left and right. “Me?”

  “Who else would I be talking to––the Emperor of Tau Ceti? Are you hurt?”

  Betsy shrugged. “Not really. I scraped my leg on a stick when I ran across the beach, so if you guys have a bandage, that would be great!”

  The beagle and cat glanced at each other.

  “What’s your name and unit number?” asked the cat.

  “Betsy. I’m with Blue Squadron. That’s a good answer, right? Do you guys have any marshmallows? I’m starving to death.”

  “There’s no Blue Squadron,” said the beagle. “I’ve never met this guy or heard of him. He’s a spy!” He jumped up and stuck his front paws under the seat. “Where’s my pistol? I think it fell between the seat cushions.”

  The white cat shook his head and gave Betsy a friendly wave. “Nah, you’re just paranoid. I think I met him at a party last week. That’s right––Terry’s friend. Must have been hit by a blast or something. Shell-shocked. His little brain is probably somon pudding right now.” The cat lowered his voice. “Honestly, with these little dogs you really can’t tell.”

  “If you say so,” murmured the beagle. “Hey, buddy! You don’t look so good. Check into the medical bay once we’re back on the Hare Twist.”

  The white cat shrugged. “In other words––see the doc after we dock.”

  Betsy waved a paw. “Super-duper, new friends of mine!”

  PHILIP SPRINTED up the beach, the fear of being torn apart by a pack of sauropods motivating the dark-haired teenager to run faster than he ever had in his life.

  A high-pitched whine grew in volume overhead, but Philip dared not look up for fear of stumbling and being ripped to shreds by the reptiles at his heels. He held up a hand against the sudden gust of wind that blew sand and sea foam into his eyes. The gust was strong enough that Nick grabbed onto Philip’s shirt at his shoul
der and held on tightly with her tiny fists.

  The hurricane of sand and water grew stronger, forcing Philip to stop running and cover his face with both arms. A pair of huge black domes with glowing flat undersides settled onto the sand only meters away from the teenager, the spindly landing legs bending to adjust for the angle of the beach. Doors opened and ramps slammed down at the front of both transports. Bright red beams flashed across the sand, and a pair of giant, two-legged monsters clanked outside and stomped down the ramps, each step shaking the earth like miniature earthquakes.

  “The other way!” shrieked Nick. “Go back!”

  “Too late,” whispered Philip.

  The tall things ran forward like a pair of steam trains on legs and surrounded Philip and Nick with mechanical clanks and sighs. Up close and without the lights blinding him, Philip realized they were machines, not beasts.

  Five meters tall and mostly leg, the walkers were shaped like giant cannon balls with the knees-backward legs of a flamingo. Broad stripes of black, green, and brown were splashed across the dull metal skin. Weapon racks on each side of the large ball held a cluster of long cannons and sharp-nosed missiles, and facing Philip were a pair of triangular windows that glowed red in a manner that oddly resembled the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. Below the two windows were stenciled a series of numbers in a military style. In contrast, a mouth was painted on both machines with bloody, dripping fangs, and this made their appearance even scarier.

  The walker directly in front of Philip thumped a few steps closer and with a whir of gears, pointed its weapons down at the teenager and Nick. After a pause, a static hiss came from a speaker on the front of the machine.

  “That’s not it,” said a deep, electronically-modified male voice. “What about this button? How am I supposed to yell at them if they can’t hear me yell at them?!!”

  Philip raised a hand. “I can hear you.”

  “Terry, it’s working,” said the giant walker behind Philip.

  “What? I guess that WAS the right button.” The speaker in the first walker cleared his throat. “Get on the ground! Arms above your head!”

  Philip promptly flattened himself on the sand.

  Nick twisted and pulled his shirt collar. “Don’t give up, Phillie,” she whispered. “Run for it!”

  A fierce growl and the rumble of galloping reptile legs floated on the fishy ocean breeze to Philip’s ears.

  “Soon,” he whispered.

  The walker behind Philip clanked as it turned to face the long beach to the south. It spoke with a synthetically-modulated female voice.

  “Lieutenant––five contacts approaching rapidly from heading one-four-four.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” said the first walker. “Just more Centaurans on animal transports. What did you call them?”

  “These aren’t horses, Lieutenant. The contacts are two-legged, not four.”

  A third walker strode into the darkness toward the sounds, his red searchlights swinging left and right across the beach. The lights stopped abruptly.

  “Sauros!” screamed the pilot.

  Metal clanged and shrieked. With a bright bang, the tall machine disappeared and showered Philip and the other walkers with blackened bits of metal. A horrible roar came from the darkness, loud enough to drown out the crashing waves.

  “Weapons hot!” yelled the Lieutenant. “Pattern Three! Pattern Three!”

  Philip looked back and saw a giant brown sauro in the center of the smoking wreckage, a sharp-toothed grin on his face and the leg of a walker in each fist.

  “Fight!” he roared. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

  Missiles flared toward the lizard and blue plasma hissed across the beach as the platoon of walkers leapt into action, spreading into a loose formation and firing at the giant lizard, who––if anyone had been polite enough to ask––was called George. George tossed one of the steel legs at a walker and knocked it into the dunes with a burst of fire and sparks. The sauro gripped the other leg with both claws, and used it to block the plasma beams and swipe away the missiles like a frenzied home-run hitter. He jumped at the central ball of the nearest walker and ripped it apart with a terrible howl as three other sauros joined the battle, each leaping with unnatural speed and slashing at the machines with impossible strength.

  “Run!” yelled Nick.

  Philip didn’t need to be reminded twice. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the darkness.

  SUNFLOWER CLIMBED into the pilot’s seat and slipped the helmet over his furry orange head.

  “I think I fixed it. Sent power for the shield into the leg motivators.”

  “Multiple contacts on our current heading,” said the flight computer.

  “Is that the rest of those pirates that work for evil Amy? I’ll make short work of them.”

  “Yes … and no,” said the flight computer.

  Sunflower peered through the armored glass between the upper and lower jaws of the tiger-shaped tank.

  The entire coast south of the demolished lighthouse was lit up like a fleet of dog freighters full of illegal fireworks that crashed into each other over a volcano. Green and blue plasma beams streaked across the dunes and the dull thump of explosions turned the sand orange. Columns of smoke that smelled of burning plastic boiled into the sky, thick and oily––definitely not from a brush fire. The scattered shadows of cats and dogs ran back and forth against the flames, and a tall, two-legged machine toppled over in pieces. With a flash of engines, a transport lifted off and skimmed the white surf, the crazy fireworks of the battlefield shining across its glossy black dome.

  Sunflower rubbed his eyes and stared at the battle. “Blessed Saint Mittens and his three legs. Any idea what’s going on?”

  “Radiation coming from military-grade vehicles and weaponry,” said the flight computer. “From the radio broadcasts, the pilots are cats and they’re losing badly. Very, very badly.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Lots of screaming and calling on Saint Fluffy,” said the flight computer.

  Sunflower squinted at the darkness. “Something’s coming!”

  He stuck his front paws into the pits of the control panel and lowered the giant armored cat into a crouch.

  Dark, four-legged figures rushed across the dunes at top speed toward Sunflower, but instead of attacking, the mob of two hundred cats and dogs ran past and continued toward the lights of the human village. The terrified animals were covered in blood and sand, and were missing weapons or parts of their combat armor. Their eyes were open so wide that Sunflower could see the whites even through the faceplates of their helmets.

  “Well, that’s different,” he said. “They just ran past us.”

  “Contact approaching,” said the flight computer. “A bipedal organic.”

  “Probably what the idiots are running from,” said Sunflower. “Nothing we can’t handle, right? I’m sitting in the most powerful tank the glorious Tau Ceti Empire has ever produced. There’s nothing I can’t rip apart with these claws!”

  Sunflower grinned and clicked his paws inside the control pits, causing the armored cat’s steel tail to twitch back and forth.

  “Get ready to be shredded, you devil dogs,” he cackled. His eyes grew wide. “What the––?!!”

  Sunflower pulled the cockpit release lever. The head of the steel tiger split horizontally and swung back, letting in the cool night air. Sunflower unbuckled his safety harness and stood on his hind legs.

  “Philip! You fizz-brained sack of monkey meat!”

  The teenager had stopped at the sight of the giant shape in the darkness and turned to flee in another direction when Sunflower’s voice rang out. He spun and sprinted back toward the armored tank.

  “Sunflower! I thought you were dead!”

  Nick buzzed out of the darkness. “He probably should be! I bet he’s been naughty and bad.”

  The orange cat shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. The ship sank into the ocean and I t
hought everyone drowned. We looked for you!”

  “Who’s ‘we?’” asked Philip. “And where did you get this giant thing?”

  “It was down in the cargo hold of the ship. Betsy and I were sitting inside, and the next thing we knew, the ship exploded and sank.”

  Nick clapped her hands. “Betsy’s alive, I told you! Where is he?”

  “They’ve probably caught him already,” said Sunflower. “He’s on a secret mission to get inside evil Amy’s ship.”

  Philip rubbed his forehead. “What about Amy? Have you seen her?”

  “No. It’s just been me and Betsy.”

  “That message you sent was a great idea,” said Philip. “Nick and I would’ve never found you without that.”

  The ground vibrated and a walker sprinted past, its tall metal legs throwing sand high into the air as it ran away from the beach. A series of guttural roars came from the darkness.

  Sunflower shook his furry head. “I could swear that sounds like––”

  “Sauros!” yelled Philip and Nick, and bolted past the armored cat.

  Sunflower fell back into his seat and snapped the cockpit shut. He jammed his paws into the control pits and spun the steel beast with a violent crackle of underbrush and hiss of hydraulics.

  “Three biologicals approaching,” said the flight computer. “From the sound signature, the probability of the contacts being adult sauropods is ninety-seven percent. Probability of survival in combat against three adult sauropods with no overshield and empty missile pods is zero point six percent.”

  “I know that!” growled Sunflower, with fangs bared. “Why do you think we’re running away? Send all power to the leg motivators.”

  He drove the steel beast as fast as it could go toward the glow coming from the human village.

  As the rapid thump of the walker and Sunflower’s armored cat faded away, an unnatural silence returned to the coastal dunes. Black-crowned herons gripped branches in the pine trees and stayed silent, coyotes watched the night carefully and kept their bellies to the sand, and fluttering moths folded their wings and waited. Even the low-hanging clouds seemed to slow down with anticipation.